The Mistakes They Make
by Flaw's Revenge
Summary: In the changed future, Wyatt observes Chris, and it doesn't all come up roses. This story is composed of alternating POVs depicting a family trying to piece themselves back together after years of silence and avoidance.
1. Chapter 1

Well, there's not too much to say about this. If you're here because of that other story, I can't really give you much hope. I read through it and I'm not really inspired to write anything more. There is always the chance that I'll get so frustrated with having a WIP hanging over my head that I'll work on it. Anyway, back to the matter at hand.

Disclaimer: I don't own Charmed, or any characters or situations thereof. I'm writing this for fun, and for stress relief, and because I was inspired by teal-lover's "Unplanned Changes."

I suppose you could say this is set in the changed future. Chris and Wyatt are older…not teenagers anymore at least. Wyatt's POV, but 3rd person.

If you like it, feel free to drop a note. If you hate it, feel free to drop a note. If you just want to say "hey," feel free to drop a note. :-)

_:Halliwell:_

"You're trying my patience, Chris."

His mother's voice, coming from the kitchen, and bouncing off the wall before it came back to him. She was turned away then, from the doorway and from Chris, who he could see standing at the breakfast bar. She was probably working on cooking this or that. Wyatt hoped it might be dinner, or better yet, dessert.

He didn't hear Chris respond, and more than likely his little brother had sighed or rolled his eyes or something equally frustrating to parents. But maybe not. Lately he had noticed that Chris was less and less likely to come up with sarcastic comebacks and even more rare were the whining and the frustrated anger. Maybe Chris was finally growing out of the terrible teens?

But Chris turned around, interrupting his revelry in the doorway, and he saw something else in Chris's face, only briefly, before the boy he knew was back: cool and unaffected.

"Did you find the demon?" Chris asked, folding his arms, but less like he expected to be disappointed, and more like he was protecting himself.

"Yeah, I left the book open upstairs. It needs a potion, and I thought maybe you could…" he gestured with his arms, and let a sheepish look slide onto his face.

But Chris didn't roll his eyes, or shake his head. He just said, "I'll make it," and orbed upstairs.

Wyatt stayed where he was, watching his mother move about the kitchen until she noticed he was standing there and jumped a bit, before giving him a glower.

He gave her a full, bright smile and instantly she went from annoyed that he had been watching her to happy to see him.

"How long have you been there?" she asked, but she was smiling.

He shrugged. "What are you making?" he asked back. "One of my favorites?"

"You'll have to wait and find out," she said, and turned back to her cutting boards and mixing bowls.

"I suppose I could do that," he said, but came into the kitchen to try and peak over her shoulder anyway.

She swatted him away with a towel, and he went to the breakfast bar, to where Chris had been standing.

"Were you arguing?" he asked her, looking around the items on the breakfast bar. Maybe there was a leftover cookie or something to last him until dinner…

"What?" She didn't turn around, but grabbed a knife and began chopping…or slicing…or something. He didn't really know.

"With Chris. What were you fighting about?"

Her knife stopped, only for a little while, but he noticed it, and filed it away, along with the fact that Leo or Paige must have snagged the last of the cookies on their ways into work.

"We weren't fighting."

"Oh," he said, and let the tone carry his disbelief. She put down the knife and turned around to face him full on.

She sighed.

"Look, Wyatt, I know you probably don't realize it, but sometimes your brother can be, well…" she shook her head and looked up to the ceiling, as though she could find some guidance there. Maybe she could. You really never knew.

"What?"

She let her breath out in a burst and turned away from him again. "Frustrating."

He sort of thought that the word she was looking for was "annoying."

_:Halliwell:_

When they were little, Chris would follow him around, looking all young and innocent, and being extremely annoying to his cool older brother. So like any good older brother, he used to try and find things to say to get Chris to leave him alone.

He had tried the classic, "You're adopted," but it didn't work. Even when he was little, Chris didn't go off running and crying to mommy and daddy over that one. Mostly, he got a look in his eyes, one that Wyatt hadn't understood at the time. But now, looking back, he saw it as longing, and maybe even a bit wistful. Now, he could see that Chris had held some hope that he had parents somewhere else, different parents.

But what parents could be better than Piper and Leo? That was the part Wyatt still didn't understand.

When they were a little older, Wyatt had figured out the perfect way to get Chris to leave him alone. They were outside in the front yard alone, and he had said, "You're a mistake. Mom and dad never meant to have you."

Now he knew how cruel that was, but then? He had really wanted to learn tricks on his bike at the neighborhood park, and he hadn't wanted Chris around ruining his image.

He only ever said it the one time, and had instantly regretted it when he saw Chris's face. He had thought for sure the little boy would go crying to mommy and daddy that time, but he never did. He had even asked them later, what Chris had done when he went back into the house. But they didn't know. They had said he must have gone to play with his toys.

The urge to say something hurtful only came over him one time after that. He had opened his mouth, and his friends were standing right there, laughing. He had opened his mouth, but Chris had cut in by saying, "I know, I'm adopted, right?" and then left them alone. He didn't really try to hang out with Wyatt and his friends after that.

Now that they were adults, he was constantly trying to get Chris to hang out. Wyatt had a lot of friends. He was energetic and fun, and smiled and laughed all the time. People flocked to him. But Chris was the opposite, so he always tried to get his little brother to loosen up, and to meet people. Mostly Chris smiled and said, "Maybe another time." But there never was.

_:Halliwell:_

He orbed up into the attic, and sure enough, there was Chris, diligently working on the potion. Wyatt came up beside him, but Chris didn't shoo him away like he usually would. He also didn't do anything when Wyatt read over the potion and added some of the ingredients. Usually Wyatt helping meant that Chris would have to start over again, and sure enough, just as he was preparing to portion the concoction out into the little jars, the whole thing sizzled, gave a great heave, and popped, sending bright orange liquid all over the attic.

Chris blinked.

Wyatt started to laugh, and then caught himself, sobered up and turned to look at Chris with what he hoped was a straight face.

Chris looked back at him, or at least, he tried to, but his entire face was coated. He raised a hand to wipe at it, and Wyatt grabbed a towel and reached in, trying to help remove the mess. So he was wiping his little brother's face when Chris started to shake.

"Oh man, Chris, I'm sorry about—"

But Chris grabbed his hand, and moved it and the towel away. Wyatt could see that he was laughing.

"You're unbelievable, you know that? But come on, let's start over." Chris gave one last swipe at his face and reached for a fresh cauldron.

"'Let's'" he repeated incredulously. "You want me to help? Even after this?" Wyatt waved his hands to encompass the scope of the disaster.

"Yeah, well, someday you'll have to do this by yourself, so you better learn how."

"What? Why would I have to do this by myself? I have you, don't I?"

But Chris didn't answer. He only shrugged and went about the business of potion making. Again.

_:Halliwell:_

As a teenager, Wyatt remembered Chris being all those wonderful things that a surly teenager can be. He was, well…surly. And angry, and manipulative, and his face always said that he suffered from a great injustice.

Wyatt had been a pleasant teenager. He had gotten good grades, good girlfriends, and acceptances at good colleges. He had tried his best to make sure Chris was happy and having a good time at home and at school, but there was only so much he could do. Some things were just hormonal.

Or so he thought.

And probably it was a big part of it, but so was Leo being so busy at Magic School and Piper being so busy with the club and the family (now much extended) and her cooking and being, well, Piper, that maybe that school trip to the museum just wasn't as exciting as it was the first time around. With Wyatt.

And maybe another part of it was Chris's sometimes supernatural (not that so many things in their family weren't also supernatural) knowledge of demons, and moreover, his obsessive drive to take care of things, right then and there. He never wanted to take the time to sit down to dinner when there could be innocents in danger.

And maybe the biggest part of it was the look that Aunt Paige sometimes got in her eyes. The one that was accompanied by the rolling of said eyes and rang of boredom. Like Chris and his actions were a part of a song already sung. It was the way Aunt Phoebe ignored him when she came into the house, and said she 'didn't want to deal with it, Chris, she already had a headache.'

Wyatt and Chris had vanquished a lot of demons themselves when they were teenagers.

Their parents and the Aunts looked at Chris a lot when he was a teenager. Usually when he was leaving the room, after learning they didn't want to help. They looked at him like they were searching for something. Or maybe, they were searching for something _not _to be there. Hoping even. But whatever it was, Wyatt noticed that eventually, they all gave up hope.

Wyatt sometimes wondered when Chris got to be the innocent.

_:Halliwell:_

But Wyatt didn't help with the second batch of potion. Instead, he cleaned up the mess he had made by wrecking the first batch. He cleaned by hand, no magic, and for a long while, as least long to Wyatt, neither of them said a thing. After a while he noticed that he was thinking about how it probably wasn't a long time at all to Chris, and not about Chris potentially leaving or even about how the orange goo was staining his hands and clothes.

So he said, "How's the potion coming?" and Chris turned his head to the side, like he meant to turn the whole way to face Wyatt with a clever retort, but he then didn't.

He said, "It's okay," and turned back and that was that.

"Because, you know, I think orange is a nice color for a potion. We don't get to make nearly enough things that are orange."

Chris shrugged.

Wyatt stood up on his tiptoes to reach a glob that looked like it was trying to form some sort of psychedelic stalactite. He giggled to himself about how that sounded, which caused him to only dislodge it and not to catch it, and it ended up on his head.

He sighed, then reached up and rubbed it into his hair before going around to face Chris on the other side of the table where he was working.

"Look, we match."

Chris said, "yeah. How 'bout that."

"I think we make a very intimidating pair right now. Let's summon the demon and watch him cower before our ferociousness."

Chris looked him in the eye, and then handed him a potion bottle. "You should teach kindergarten or something, Wy."

Wyatt nodded very seriously. "I've considered it."

After the demon was summoned and subsequently destroyed, and Chris turned to leave the attic, Wyatt grabbed his arm to stop him.

"We need to talk about this."

Chris tilted his head and stared at Wyatt's hand on his arm for awhile. "You know," he started and then looked Wyatt in the eye, "we really don't." He removed Wyatt's hand gently and then left the room. Wyatt stood and watched him go.

_:Halliwell:_

Once, when he was eight or so, Wyatt had left his room after his bedtime and crept to the top of the stairs. He could hear his parents down there, arguing. He had sat on the top stair and put his head in his hands, just listening. A little while after he had been there, he heard footsteps behind him and a hand fall on his shoulder. He looked up to see Chris standing there, and had scooted over to make room. They had sat there in the dark and held each other's hands as the arguing escalated.

At one point, he remembered that Chris had turned to him and whispered, "Is daddy gonna go Up There?"

"Why would he do that?" he had whispered back.

Chris had shrugged, and was quiet for a long time. Eventually, he got up to go back to bed, and even though his back was turned while he was walking away, Wyatt could have sworn later that he heard him say, "Maybe he should."

A few days before that, dad had failed to turn up for Chris's kindergarten play. It was the only event like that that Wyatt remembered their father had ever missed, and he knew that he even sent an apology letter. But for some reason, Chris never seemed to let it go.

Wyatt supposed that their father had never missed anything of his.

_:Halliwell:_

Chris was in the shower, so Wyatt went downstairs to check on dinner. That is, he went to see if he could get a sneak preview.

His mom and dad were down there, and he heard her say, "I can barely stand to look at him, Leo."

"Piper…" his father said, and then didn't say anything. He heard the sound of a chair being pulled back and assumed his father had taken a seat.

"I mean, I know that they're not the same. My brain knows that."

Another chair was pulled out.

Piper said, "I don't think my heart knows that, Leo."

His father sighed and Wyatt imagined him reaching out to take her hands in his.

"Piper, he's our son. We love him. He knows that, no matter what's going on between us right now. It'll get better, Piper. It's just a phase. We've been upset with Wyatt before, too."

He heard a sniffle. Was Piper crying?

"I never wished that—"

Just then the bathroom door opened upstairs, and he heard Chris go into his bedroom. He missed whatever they were saying, and when he listened in again, the conversation was over.

He stepped into the kitchen, and there they sat, just like he pictured, hand in hand. They smiled when they saw him, and both of their eyes were a little red. Just then, Chris came downstairs and into the kitchen after him. They stopped smiling.

Maybe, when Wyatt said, all those years ago, that Chris was a mistake… Maybe that was why it hurt them both so much. Because it was true. Even if they hadn't known it at the time. Wyatt vowed then and there that Chris would never know. The thing was, he figured Chris probably already did.

_:Halliwell:_

Another time, Aunt Phoebe came home from a trip with a present for Wyatt, and walked right by Chris. He smiled after her. He was very young. He probably wouldn't have appreciated a miniature replication of one of the stones of Easter Island anyway. At that time, Wyatt didn't either, and the empty face and long nose freaked him out when the moonlight hit it on his dresser. Later, he and Chris had buried it in the backyard together. Aunt Phoebe never noticed.

Aunt Paige used to bring them both candy, and she would smile at Chris and give him extra pieces. She would smile extra big and sigh when she walked away. That was when Wyatt first learned about smiles being fake. He never faked one. Never. And Wyatt smiled a lot. Chris had put the candy in a box under his bed and got it out every once in a while and counted the pieces. He never ate any. He didn't like candy. But Wyatt knew he liked having them anyway. Until one day Aunt Paige's smile was just a bit too big. They buried the box next to the miniature head.

One night, Wyatt had looked outside and saw Chris burying something else. He had gone out after Chris was asleep and dug it up. It was Leo's letter. On an impulse, Wyatt had pulled the last cookie from Piper's latest batch out of his pocket (he'd been saving it for later) and threw it in there, too. It was a sugar cookie, with frosting and sprinkles. Chris didn't like that kind.

_:Halliwell:_

"Are we eating?" Chris asked. He stood just behind Wyatt, and Wyatt noticed that he had become a barrier between Chris and their parents.

No one said anything.

Wyatt narrowed his eyes at their parents.

"Or, I could order something in, I guess. I mean, we haven't done that in a while." Chris waited a little longer and then drifted out of the room, probably in search of a phone book.

Piper locked eyes with Wyatt. "Wy…"

But Wyatt shook his head. "I don't understand it, and right now, I don't really care. I'm taking Chris and going to Grandpa's for dinner."

He turned to leave the kitchen, but stopped in the doorway and said, "Maybe for a little longer than that," over his shoulder.

_:Halliwell:_

Grandpa's. Even when he was a surly teenager, Chris was happy at Grandpa's. Wyatt liked to go to Grandpa's because he, well, loved Grandpa, but more than that he liked to go to Grandpa's because Chris was always happy there.

Demons could be coming out of the woodwork (which once they did, literally) and Chris would be laughing and tossing them around with his telekinesis and cheering Wyatt on. Usually, he was their high school soccer coach reincarnated (bless that poor man's soul), all strategizing and demanding and he never ever let Wyatt drift around midfield and watch grass grow while there were demons that needed to be vanquished.

But at Grandpa's? It was almost fun to have the balance of good and evil resting between his shoulder blades. And he knew that if it was a boulder to him, it was a mountain to Chris. At Grandpa's, the load was easy.

Poor Grandpa, though. And the man wasn't getting any younger. It was one of the only times now that they used magic for cleanup. Just because Grandpa couldn't be redoing any walls or rebuilding any furniture nowadays, and because it was the only time Chris didn't immediately say "personal gain."

Wyatt secretly thought that Chris liked having those sorts of projects to do. Something to keep him away from demon hunting for a little while, and probably away from the family, too, since everyone else usually vanished in the face of a broken grandfather clock. And the last few years, Wyatt had been helping. There truly was something therapeutic about working with his hands in that manner.

But being at Grandpa's, with a happy Chris, was therapy enough.

_:Halliwell:_

Wyatt found Chris in the living room sitting on one of the couches. He was leaning forward with his elbows resting on his legs and his hands clasped.

"Hey," Wyatt said, sitting down across from him.

Chris looked at the floor for a long time without saying anything. Then he said, "I'm not a very good person."

Wyatt frowned, and said, "Are you kidding me? You're the best person I know!"

But Chris didn't smile. He said, "I lied, I manipulated. I was rude, and sarcastic." He sat back and ran his hands through his hair, finally looking up at Wyatt, and his eyes were bloodshot. Funny how they all had matching eyes.

Instead he said, "You couldn't find the phonebook, huh?"

Chris shook his head and looked away. "I just thought, that they wouldn't be so difficult. I just thought, they wouldn't be rude or sarcastic either. How come they could never see that I was just like them?"

"What are you talking about, Chris? Mom and dad and the Aunts? Or something else?"

Chris was whispering now. "It was over twenty years ago, Wy. I'm not the same person that I was. I'm not, and I am, both at the same time. But no matter that, or any of it. I'm family. I thought they would love me anyway."

Wyatt stood up and held out his hand until Chris finally looked at it. "Come on. Let's go pack. We're going to Grandpa's."


	2. Interlude and Prequel

If I were to be writing more of this story, this part would count as an interlude, even though it's technically (mostly) a prequel. There are a couple lines in here from "Prince Charmed," which obviously I do not own, just like I don't own anything else of "Charmed."

Thanks to everyone who reviewed this story! I know I didn't send any responses, but I was very grateful for each one and inspired each time to work on this a little more.

_:Halliwell:_

Chris liked to sit alone in the dark. He liked to go into empty rooms in the manor at night and breathe in the smells of his family; the smells of Piper in the kitchen and his aunts in the conservatory and Wyatt in the dining room, constantly eating. He liked to sit in the stairwell and imagine his father pacing the room before him. He liked to imagine the door banging open when Phoebe or Paige came rushing home with news of their jobs, of their growing families. He liked to imagine his father orbing in and greeting his mother with a smile and a hug.

He liked to imagine himself coming home, and being greeted at all.

It wasn't like he gave himself over to such maudlin reflections often. It was just that after a particularly bad day, he liked to think that he could enter the kitchen and his mother would give him a smile instead of a "What do you want?"

And with a demon on the loose and his social life practically non-existent and his home life…well. It would be nice if one of those could go right for a change.

But his mother was cooking, and she had never particularly liked him to be around for that, and he should have known better before interrupting her, but he remembered, _he remembered_, and that was enough to make him try. One day, he thought, maybe subconsciously, maybe consciously where he could analyze it and discard it and think it anyway, maybe she would turn around and her eyes would light up like they used to.

But that was almost 30 years ago now, and here he was, barely into his twenties.

So he said, "Just to say hi," and tried to smile. Really tried, but she was looking at him suspiciously and he just couldn't do it. Instead, he felt his face become something defensive, something guilty, and he didn't know what for, except that it was habit by now, started all those long years ago when he thought that by keeping a secret he could save the world, save Wyatt, and not change the light in his parents' eyes when they looked at him.

Alright, so maybe he knew he would change that too, and just didn't care. Some things had to be given up for the greater good. But now here he was, and sometimes he just wanted to scream "Where is MY greater good?"

She said, "Whatever it is, I don't have time," and she turned away from him.

A long long time ago he would have run into this kitchen, run right into her arms, and she would have swept him up and said, "My big boy! I love you so much!"

A long time ago he would have come into the kitchen after being out too long, at school or with friends or fighting demons, and she would have said, "Where have you been? I missed you! Now come help me here. I want to show you something."

After that he remembered, "You're lying," and "I don't want to see you anymore," and those were his darkest days, and the reason he was where he was. The reason Wyatt smiled at him and didn't try to kill him. The reason the rest of his family couldn't stand him.

"It isn't anything," he said. "I thought maybe you wanted some help."

She was slicing something on the counter, her back to him, and she didn't turn around. "Help with what?"

He shrugged unseen, helpless in the face, or back, or her dismissal, and he was standing right there.

"With whatever you're doing."

"You don't know how."

He put his hands on the breakfast bar, and stared down at them, imagined them smaller, and wrapped around a spoon, his mother's hands wrapped around his. Mixing cookie dough, stealing bits when she turned to grab another ingredient. He imagined them larger, holding a knife, his mother's hand on the back of his, guiding the blade, telling him softly how to cut with the grain, how to tease and coax a meal out of whatever was beneath their hands.

"I could learn," he said. "You could teach me."

She snorted, _snorted_, and tossed him a look over her shoulder: incredulity.

"Since when have you ever had any interest in this?"

In you? Forever.

"I dunno, maybe it'd be fun."

She just shook her head. Didn't even try to respond to that. And he didn't know what to say. He remembered sitting for ages, just chatting with her, telling her everything. For a while there, it had been just her and him against the world, with Wyatt surly (evil) and dad busy (gone) and the aunts missing (dead), and they told each other everything. Now it was hard for them to be in the same room together. Or rather, it was hard for her to want to be in the same room as him.

She was chopping more furiously now, and he tried to block out the reasons that he could anger her only by talking, by trying.

"I really mean that," he said, still trying. "I'd really to like to learn anything you'd teach me."

But by the time he was finished saying it she had cut her finger and rushed it under the sink. He was stunned. His mother had cut herself in the kitchen.

"Since when?" she asked, and he had the distinct impression that it was 20 odd years ago and they were fighting over the proper way to save Wyatt.

He looked away from her, and the accusatory glare she was sending him. He picked up the knife with which she had cut herself and set it aside. He gestured down at the remaining work in progress, and somehow managed to forget exactly what they had just been talking about.

"If your hand's too hurt, I can finish this for you."

He froze. Sometimes he couldn't believe the things that came out of his mouth.

She repeated, "You don't know how to cook."

And when he looked over at her, their eyes met and he didn't know exactly what she read there, only that she knew that he knew how to cook. That he'd been lying about wanting to learn. That he'd been _lying_. Again.

"Where'd you learn?" she said, and she didn't look angry anymore. She looked resigned, disappointed.

"From the best," he whispered, hoping she would get it, hoping she would see that he wasn't lying about _wanting_. To be with her, to learn from her.

She didn't.

"Who?"

He bit his lip and looked away, and he could hear it in the air between them. _Future consequences._

"When are you going to stop lying, Chris?"

When are you going to trust me anyway?

"I'm not lying." He walked back over to his previous spot, putting the breakfast bar back between them. She moved back to pick up the knife, before putting it in the sink and grabbing a new one. Apparently the cut had been barely anything at all. Barely worth the trouble.

He opened his mouth to say something, but the words just wouldn't come. She beat him to it.

"You're trying my patience, Chris."

He didn't know whether to be angry with her, or to cry. Thankfully, there was a noise behind him, and he turned around to find Wyatt in the doorway.

"Did you find the demon?"

Wyatt was peering at him, with some suspicion yes, but mostly concern, but then his goofy older brother was back, face sliding easily into sheepishness.

"Yeah," he said, "I left the book open upstairs. It needs a potion, and I thought maybe you could…" And Chris watched while Wyatt mimed the whole process coming together. He knew he should laugh and say something sarcastic, but he didn't have it in him.

So he just said, "I'll make it," and orbed upstairs to the attic, where it was dark. Wyatt had left the book out and opened to the right page. Evidently he had done his searching earlier and left it for Chris when it came time for potion making.

He left the lights out and sat on the small couch for a while, breathing in the smells of the attic. The tradition, the passion, the love. He breathed it in and tried to imagine that he was a part of it, too.

Chris was working on the potion when Wyatt orbed in and turned the lights on without even noticing.


	3. In Reverse: Interlude and Prequel

Hmmm, yeah. So I barely sent the last one off and was thinking about this, and then after the reviews I thought about it some more, and decided that I would really like to see the whole conversation in the kitchen from Piper's POV. I hope some of you like it, too. :-)

Thanks again for the reviews! I love them shamelessly. Thanks also to everyone who took the time to read this story.

Disclaimer: As always, none of the characters or anything of Charmed belong to me. There is another line in here from "Prince Charmed." The whole thing is unbetaed. Sorry.

_:Halliwell:_

She'd been in her room that morning, going through a trunk of Wyatt's baby items. There were little sweaters and hats and things that Chris had worn, too, but had ended up back in Wyatt's box, and old toys and stuffed animals and blankets. She had been digging and reminiscing for a while when she found the photos on the bottom. Pictures that either Phoebe or Paige must have taken, and stuck in the bottom of the pile when they'd gone through and decided what to keep and what to get rid of.

There were a couple of the three of them with little Wyatt, and one of Victor holding the baby, and one of Chris, playing with his brother.

Chris. Twenty something and looking just like he did today. But it wasn't him. It was Chris _Perry_, the whitelighter from the future that had wreaked such havoc on their lives for such a short time. The frustrating man who had lied and manipulated, but who had watched over their family with a diligence and a perseverance that could rival only her own. The son of hers who had never really been hers. He had belonged to a woman whose memories he kept locked inside himself. A woman who had died young, and been immortalized by his love. So much so that when he looked at her, she often wasn't sure it was her that he was seeing.

She clutched the picture in her hands and felt something well up inside of her. It was a familiar feeling, of frustration, of jealousy, of enough things tangled together that it was often hard for her to let that all slip away and let only the love of a mother for her son remain.

Her son.

Wyatt was her son. Born and raised, and maybe Chris had once said he'd been evil, but really, he'd always been Wyatt, her golden haired little cherub, full of mischief and smiles and a light bright enough to share with everyone he came into contact.

Chris had always felt like he belonged just a bit to someone else. And where Wyatt was light, Chris was often darkness. He carried it inside himself. He had then, and he did now, as though he remember the things that had happened to his family the first time around, and couldn't ever let himself go, let himself stop hurting, and stop _fighting_.

She often wished he could be more like Wyatt. He had saved them, and he should have been able to grow up happy and smiles and light, too. But he didn't. And she didn't understand that.

And sometimes when she looked at him, when she talked to him, she had a hard time finding her son, the son she loved, in Chris Perry, the man she often could barely stand.

She left the picture on her bedside table, careless of if he or Wyatt were to come in and find it there, but she couldn't bring herself to put it back away at the bottom of the trunk when she cleaned up the rest of the mess. She wanted to look at it, to think about it, later.

She left her room, closing the door behind her and going downstairs to start dinner. And when she was there, and working steadily with her favorite tools in her hands: fresh foods and good utensils, she only felt more frustrated with Chris Perry, and the darkness she felt he had left behind in her son. So when he walked in the room behind her, she forgot for a moment, that it was her Chris, and he didn't know anything about the man he had been before.

So she greeted him just like she would have greeted _him_: "What do you want?"

He said, "Just to say hi," but she heard defensive, and she thought of demon hunts when she should have been raising her son, and running her club, and keeping her family from falling apart.

"Whatever it is," she retorted, like she had so many times before, "I don't have time."

"It isn't anything," he said. "I thought maybe you wanted some help."

And that was new. Chris was never in the kitchen except to find some food, or more likely, to trail behind Wyatt in one of the older brother's endless quests to fill a bottomless pit of a stomach. And he had never shown an interest in cooking. Perhaps it was something else.

So she asked, "Help with what?"

"With whatever you're doing," he said, like it was obvious. Like it was normal.

"You don't know how."

He was quiet for a while, but she didn't turn to look at him. She imagined machinations, in his silence, and thought that he would soon drop the ruse and tell the truth: he needed her for the power of three, or he needed her to bless something, or curse it.

But instead he said, "I could learn. You could teach me."

She snorted and looked at him incredulously. Chris had always been so self-sufficient. He knew how to make potions; he knew how to use the book. And if he didn't know something, he always seemed to go off and learn it. She could barely even remember him coming to her for help with his homework. That she had never seen him cook only indicated to her that he truly didn't care to.

"Since when have you ever had any interest in this?"

"I dunno, maybe it'd be fun," he said, and she didn't recognize the look in his eyes.

She shook her head, and turned back to chopping, taking her frustration with him, and with her inability to understand him, out with the knife.

"I really mean that," he said. "I'd really to like to learn anything you'd teach me."

She nicked herself accidentally at those words, and rushed to the sink to stem any blood flow. There wasn't much, and it was a small excuse to avoid him for a moment.

"Since when?" she asked, keeping her eyes on the sink as he came around the breakfast bar at last and stood where she had just been working.

She saw him moving things out of the corner of her eye.

He said, "If your hand's too hurt, I can finish this for you," and stilled. So did she. She took a moment to process that. To process the son that didn't know how to cook suddenly being proficient enough to finish her work for her. She had been cooking her whole life, and he had just been asking to learn. Was this another of those things? Was this another _Because the only reason I came here was to keep Wyatt from turning evil_? Another lie?

She repeated, "You don't know how to cook," and their eyes met and he looked so _guilty_, and she didn't know at all what to do with that. He said nothing, and she felt the disappointment in her grow. He was her son now, and he was still lying.

"Where'd you learn?" she asked, and she could hear the resignation in her voice. She really didn't want to know, and she really didn't want to hear another lie.

"From the best," he whispered, and that cut her worse than a lie could have. She was his mother, for God's sake. She was a chef and she was his mother and weren't sons supposed to think their mothers hung the moon?

But she couldn't help herself. She had to know.

"Who?"

He bit his lip and looked away, and she could almost hear it in the air between them, on top of the lies, and the sting of jealousy.

_Future consequences._

She shook her head to clear out the cobwebs, the residual traces of things that just _weren't_ anymore.

"When are you going to stop lying, Chris?"

"I'm not lying." It was defensive, and petulant. And he backed away from her, back to his previous spot, effectively putting the breakfast bar back between them. She went back to her cutting board and stared down at it

She sighed internally. "You're trying my patience, Chris."

But Chris didn't respond to her, he responded to Wyatt's sudden appearance in the kitchen. He said, "Did you find the demon?" and Piper suddenly thought that that was the reason Chris had come to find her in the first place. Another demon to fight. Another interruption in her life.

She heard Wyatt say "Yeah, I left the book open upstairs. It needs a potion, and I thought maybe you could…"

Apparently they didn't really need her after all.

Chris said, "I'll make it," and she didn't turn around when she heard them orb away.

She worked some more, finishing up one thing and starting another, until she was about ready to set the oven and make some final pre-cooking touches. All the while she tried to put the conversation out of her mind. She tried not to equate it with the picture of Chris Perry she left upstairs, but found it near impossible.

Where was the little boy in him? Why did Wyatt get all the smiles? The first Chris had given up everything for Wyatt, but why did that mean he hadn't given everything up for himself, too? For this version of himself.

Why was Chris Perry still here, living in her house and calling himself Chris Halliwell?

Where was her little boy?

At some point she turned all the way toward the doorway and jumped when she saw Wyatt still standing there. She frowned, and he smiled back, bright and happy and she couldn't help but smile in response.

"How long have you been there?" she asked.

He shrugged and smiled more, then said, "What are you making? One of my favorites?"

She realized that she was, actually, making one of his favorites, and something Chris had never much cared for, but she said, "You'll have to wait and find out," and turned back to finishing up.

He came up behind her, teasing her back when he said, "I suppose I could do that," and beginning to reach for free samples.

She swatted him away with a towel, laughing a little, and marveling that her son had made her laugh so easily.

He jumped away and went to the spot behind the breakfast bar where Chris had just been standing.

She worked in silence for a small moment before he said, "Were you arguing?"

Her stomach jumped a bit and she reached for something with which to keep busy, something to distract herself. "What?"

"With Chris," Wyatt said. "What were you fighting about?"

She paused her busy work, and knew that her face would probably show the guilt that she had earlier seen in Chris'. Suddenly, faced with Wyatt, who loved his brother more than anything in the world, and so he should, for everything Chris had done for him even though he didn't know about it, she was embarrassed. She was embarrassed to have been caught pushing away her son. She was embarrassed to have been wishing that Chris was more like Wyatt, to have been wishing that Chris was not himself.

She said, "We weren't fighting," and thought about how Chris had lied to her earlier. Like mother, like son.

Wyatt said, "Oh," and caught her at her lie just like she had caught Chris at his. Like mother, like son.

She put down her work and turned to look at him. She said, "Look, Wyatt, I know you probably don't realize it, but sometimes your brother can be, well…"

She looked up as she tried to think of what she wanted to say, eyes searching blindly for a way to express _just like me_ and _someone else entirely, someone you used to know when you were barely a more than a baby._

"What?" Wyatt asked.

She let her breath out in a burst, and her thoughts with went with it, floating up and away.

She finally said, "Frustrating," but it wasn't what she meant at all. She turned back to finish up the meal, put it in the oven to bake, and when she left the kitchen Wyatt had long gone up to the attic to help his brother. She returned to her bedroom and sat on her bed with the photograph in her hands.


	4. Chapter 3

Well...this is the third chapter. The second chapter is sitting on my harddrive, as incomplete as it was many months ago. But I finished this (unbetaed) and thought I'd probably put something out there for everyone that was reading and was so kind to leave me reviews. Thanks to all of you.

_:Halliwell:_

Wyatt came back home well after nightfall, when he was sure the manor would be still. He left Chris sleeping on Victor's couch and Victor sitting at his kitchen table, wondering why the world had suddenly fallen off its axis. Victor and he had shared a glance before he'd orbed out, and so there he was, standing again in the doorway of the kitchen, picturing his mother and his little brother from that very morning, but the reality was a cleaned up kitchen, except for plates stacked on the countertop, ready to be carried out to the dinning room, and dinner itself, sitting uncovered and untouched on the stovetop. All the preparations for a wonderful family dinner, ruined.

Wyatt walked over and peered down at the main dish: his favorite, but something Chris barely tolerated. He tried not to think about that as he left the kitchen and climbed the stairs. He went first to his room, where he pulled a duffle bag out of his closet and started cramming things into it: shirts, and pants, and boxers all went in helter-skelter. They'd only brought enough for overnight when they'd left before, and he'd been sure at the time that it would be enough, that all of this would work out. But after talking with Victor and listening to Chris, it had hit him: they'd need more than for just an overnight. But he didn't have a plan, and the whole thing was starting to come apart at the seams. He was starting to come apart. Eventually, with pant legs and shirt sleeves hanging over the edges, he pushed it away from himself and sat heavily down on his bed.

He loved his parents; he didn't want to leave them.

And that was the heart of the problem, because he loved Chris, too, and how was he supposed to be a bridge between memories he didn't have and didn't know how to reconcile. If he had only been a bit older when it had all went down, he could guide them all through this. But he had been only a toddler, and hearing that his little brother had watched him, fed him, taken care of him? He didn't know what to do with that. And the wonder in Chris' voice, when he described Leo coming for him? What could he compare that to? A potential future that didn't exist anymore where Leo hadn't come? But he wasn't Chris, and he didn't remember that.

He lay down and stared out the window, trying to picture his life without parents who loved him, trying to picture his life without them. He couldn't. He wanted them to be there when he had kids and he wanted his mom to spoil them with cookies and his father to tell them stories and hug them like only an angel could. He wanted them to feel the love that he knew. He sat up. He wanted Chris to feel that, too.

He left his room, all thoughts of packing discarded, and went to his parent's room, intent on waking them and setting them straight immediately. But when he opened the door, they weren't there.

He stood in the room and breathed in, and remembered playing there as a child while Piper folded the laundry and while Leo read a book. He remembered being happy and safe there. He tried to remember Chris there with him, and he did. They were old memories, of the four of them together and happy—Chris was just a baby, but the memories were there. His parents had loved them both, once.

Maybe, in spite of everything, they still did.

"Hey you." Phoebe's voice, behind him and he turned around to see her in the hallway, peering through the darkness at him.

"Aunt Phoebe," he said, "what are you doing here?"

She came into the room and surveyed it with him. "Family emergency," she said. "Where else would I be?"

"At home, with your family—you know, your husband and kids?"

She looked at him curiously. "Snippy. Who are you, Chris? You're my family, too, you know."

Sheepishly he said, "Sorry, long day."

She nodded. "I'd sort of rather a whole horde of demons had attacked. I think that would hurt less."

They sighed together and she put a hand up on his shoulder, rubbing lightly.

"Where're my mom and dad?" he asked.

Her hand fell off his shoulder and she grabbed his hand, pulling him from the room. "Your mom's upstairs with the Book and your Aunt Paige, trying to figure out what happened, and last I saw your father he was sleeping in Chris's room. But before you go see either of them, compare notes with me okay? All I know is that I was called home to find your parents crying and you two missing."

They went down to the living room and sat together on the couch.

"We weren't missing, we went to Grandpa's. I told them that before we went."

"Okay, so not really missing, but definitely gone. Piper and Leo have been really upset, but they wouldn't let Paige and I try to bring you guys home. And now your mother's convinced that a demon must be involved and your father won't talk to anyone."

"I'm really sorry about that, but we had to leave. I shouldn't even be here, now." He leaned his head back against the couch and sighed again. "I shouldn't leave Chris alone."

"What, why?"

Wyatt turned his head without picking it up and studied her closely. "Do you remember Chris Perry?" he asked.

_:Halliwell:_

At first, she'd thought he was cute. Creepy, suspicious, and what the hell was he doing in her attic? But cute. And Paige had just been turned into a statue or something and Piper was busy with Leo and she hadn't known whether or not she could trust him. And then time went on and Piper and Leo had been sure they couldn't trust him, but she'd still never been really sure, that is, until her vision quest where she'd found out he was her nephew. Her demanding, sarcastic, broody nephew from the future who'd completely ignored her and then finally come to her for help, where she'd blamed him for his parents' split.

They'd only sort of gotten along after that. She'd avoided him most of the time and he'd never really called her on it. She'd been busy with saving Wyatt and with work and between her and Paige they almost hadn't had a place for baby Chris in the Manor. But he was still her nephew and she loved him, didn't she?

And then he'd died and she'd barely had the chance to really get to know him as more than just her whitelighter. But she had baby Chris to focus on, and she had. She'd been a good Aunt to the baby. And now she had Chris Halliwell and she'd known him his whole life and there weren't any secrets or lies between them. There wasn't any reason for her to avoid him or look at him and see anyone other than the nephew she loved.

Right?

Except sometimes it was too hard not to see Chris Perry when she looked into his eyes, so she tried not to think about it, and tried not to remind herself of Chris Perry in any way. Because he was gone and Chris Halliwell wasn't. Did that mean she'd avoided Chris Halliwell to avoid her dead whitelighter?

Shit. She needed to go on another vision quest.

_:Halliwell:_

She looked at Wyatt but didn't say anything for a long time. He grasped her hand gently until she gasped and pulled away from him, standing up and pacing a little.

"I need to go to magic school," she said abruptly.

Wyatt sat forward and stared at her. "You're kidding, right?"

She shook her head. "No no no, I'm not. I need to go on a vision quest."

"What?" Wyatt stood up too and grabbed her shoulders, trying to hold her steady. "Why would you need a vision quest because of Chris Perry?"

"Because I think I've been treating Chris like him! I think I've been avoiding Chris like I avoided Chris!" She waved her hands in frustration. "You know what I mean!"

"Yeah, I do, and you're right. So why do you need a vision quest?"

"Because I need to…" she trailed off and stopped her restless motion, staring up at him until she collapsed back onto the couch. Then she reached up and pulled him down, too. "Wyatt? What do you mean I'm right?"

"I mean, you're right. You and Paige and mom and dad have been treating Chris like he was still the other Chris, from the future."

She stared at him some more like she was trying to get a read on his words and trying to read him with her empathy and he just shrugged.

"Wyatt, how do you know about Chris Perry?"

"Because he told me."

"Chris Perry told you?"

"Well…sort of, yeah."

"You know, your mother's probably right to be looking through the Book at this point."

Wyatt stood up, this time grabbing Phoebe's hand to bring her along. "I don't know about that, but maybe we should go talk to her about it anyway."

In the attic, Aunt Paige was sitting on the loveseat, watching his mother pace around the podium with the Book, stopping every once in a while to flip pages. He wondered at how they could have had Chris around for so long and not seen the similarities.

Paige brightened a little when she saw him and gave him a wry smile. Piper hadn't even noticed them walk in, so he went and sat with Paige while Phoebe tried to calm down his mother.

"You know," she said once he was seated, "the two of you are really negatively affecting my beauty sleep." She peered past him to the doorway, but Chris wasn't there to be seen. "Where's your partner in crime anyway?"

"He's at Grandpa's, sleeping."

"Sleeping it off?"

"Man Aunt Paige, what have you heard?"

She shrugged. "Not much of anything. Your mother's been mumbling about Chris and time travel and just generally not making much sense. I'm letting her bounce ideas off of me."

Wyatt nodded and they watched while Piper ranted at Phoebe and then the two of them hugged and started to thumb through the book together.

"So Chris Perry, huh?"

Wyatt looked at her, startled, but she didn't meet his eyes. She was still watching her sisters.

"What do you mean?"

"I realized it when you walked in tonight. The nephew I know doesn't walk like that, with the world on his shoulders. My Wyatt is happy and smiley. My Chris should be that way, too. So between an unhappy Wyatt, a missing Chris, and Piper going on about time travel, well…" She shrugged.

"When did you get to be so wise, Aunt Paige?"

_:Halliwell:_

Paige had liked Chris Perry. Well, once she knew he was her nephew. Before that they had sniped at each other and been sarcastic and one could probably even say rude. But it was mutual. And after she knew he was her nephew they had sniped at each other and been sarcastic and it had been okay, because they were family. At least, that's what she thought at the time.

Well, she mostly thought that, except when she had her suspicions that between her sarcastic personality and his neurotic one, the two of them just didn't get along at all.

So had she overcompensated? Maybe. Had she watched Chris for signs of her whitelighter, and been upset when she found them? Definitely.

She wanted Chris to be happy. She wanted him to be a carefree boy who didn't have to worry about evil big brothers or dead mothers. Granted, she thought he'd probably have to worry about demons just a little bit, but that didn't mean he couldn't be a well adjusted kid outside of that.

She probably shouldn't have waited until he was already in his twenties to think this through.

_:Halliwell:_

"You should tell your mother," she said instead of answering his question. "You should tell your mother that Chris Perry is back from the dead or whatever it is that's going on."

"It isn't that he's back from the dead. He's just…Chris. And he needs to tell mom himself."

"Well, then I really hope you didn't tell Phoebe because you know if you did that the cat's already out of the bag."

"I didn't tell her, exactly." He shifted uncomfortably. "You know how she can be when she's all empathic."

"She made you sit down and talk to her, huh? Gets 'em every time."

He sighed and she patted him on the arm in sympathy.

"I know, honey. I know."

It was a little while before Piper finally looked over and saw him, pulling air in with a big gasp like she'd been suffocating.

"Wyatt," she breathed out. "You're home."

He gave her a tight little smile, and they stared at each other from across the room for awhile until Paige made a big production of needing…something…from the kitchen and dragged Phoebe out of the attic.

Piper gripped the podium under the book and said, "I tried to be a good mother."

"You were, mom. You are. You're the best."

She shook her head and stroked her hand slowly down the open page in the book. "There's supposed to be a spell here, one that will make a portal right here and take me anywhere in time. It's the one Chris used, when he came back to save you. Only it's not here."

"He tore it out."

"Because he knew I would try to fix it?"

"Because he knows that the world is good and everyone is alive and he doesn't think that going back in time is the best way to take care of a family that just needs to start communicating with each other." Wyatt hadn't asked Chris about it, not when he was talking back at Grandpa's, but he knew it like he knew his little brother. He knew that Chris would prevent any and all time travel from now on, and Wyatt was more than prepared to help him with that after the mess the family was in now.

Piper closed the book and came and took Paige's seat on the love seat.

"I never thought I'd see the day when my sons were teaching me about life instead of the other way around. And I mean that seriously. After Victor told me I was going to die young… This has been a blessing, and I've squandered it."

"You haven't. There's still time. There's still lots of time."

She sighed. "I've had lots of time. I've had time and I've had knowledge, and my son thinks I hate him."

"He doesn't think that."

"You or Chris?"

"Both of us, mom. Chris knows that you love him. Didn't Chris Perry know that, too?"

"I don't know anymore, Wyatt. I look back and I remember Leo telling me that he died, and I was holding your little brother in my arms and…Leo was so upset. You had been kidnapped by Gideon, and Leo was freaking out and I had just given birth, Wyatt. I don't know anymore. I had to take care of my family."

"Chris was family, too."

"He was in my arms, Wyatt!" she exclaimed, holding her hands out like she could see him there still. "He wasn't dead. He was my baby."

"And then he grew up and he wasn't your baby anymore? He was Chris Perry again?"

"No, I… I don't know. Maybe? Is that what happened?"

Wyatt thought about, and it made sense to him. The boy that they loved grew into the man that they were never quite reconciled with; there had never been time because he had died so suddenly. They had almost a year to mistrust him, and only a few short weeks to try and love him. Wyatt was a little surprised that they all got along as well as they did. And Chris? He had the memories of two lifetimes and memories of his mother and his aunts before they were either. There was an awkwardness and a confusion on both sides. And guilt. Too much guilt to handle.

"I don't know, mom. I don't think Chris really knows, either."

She clasped her hands in her lap and Wyatt reached out one of his own to cover hers.

"Does he remember everything?"

Wyatt only shrugged even though he remembered Chris telling him, and squeezed her hands.

"We didn't get along well with Chris Perry."

Wyatt squeezed her hand again, trying to be supportive even though he wasn't really sure that he wanted to hear everything she had to say. Just like he hadn't been sure when it was Chris talking.

"He was always bringing demons around. I think that in his version of the future it had been a free-for-all—everyone for themselves and if demons knew something or had a skill that Chris needed, he would use them. We never had to operate like that. Not like Chris did. So we didn't trust him. We didn't trust him, and we told him to get out and Leo attacked him. Hell, I attacked him when we were fighting the titans. And then after we knew who he was…"

"Mom, really, you don't need to tell me this." He didn't want to hear it. He really didn't.

"After we knew who he was, we didn't even invite him to stay with us in the manor. Leo did well with him, I think. But Phoebe avoided him, and Paige and he didn't get along real well, and I was pregnant and trying to protect you. And Chris didn't know what to do. Sometimes he would come part of the way into a room, like he was waiting to see if he was invited or not. And it shames me to say it, but sometimes he was not.

"Wyatt, he was my son, and I knew that in my head. But in my heart he wasn't mine yet. I didn't change his diapers or hold him after he scraped his knee.

"He wasn't mine."

Wyatt took his hand away and stared across the room for a while. He tried to picture himself in Chris's shoes, come back to a family that didn't know him yet. And Chris had done it, had lived with a family that didn't know him as family all to save him, to save Wyatt. Was it a blessing or a curse know that he remembered all of it?

"Is he yours now?"

She burst into sobs, and Wyatt put his arms around her instinctively, pulling her close and holding her mother against the force of things that just shouldn't be, but they were, and now they all had to learn to live with them.


	5. Chapter 2

So I was going about my life, as fine as can be, and all of sudden, Piper said, "I love both of my sons. I just don't like Chris very much." So this is for that, and for all the reviews and requests. Thank you all, and please accept my apologies for the lateness of this chapter. Real life gets in the way a bit too much sometimes. ;-)

Disclaimer: Season Six is out, and I paid to buy it and the royalties go to someone else.

Author's note: Yes, this is Chapter 2, as in, comes before Chapter 3, even though that was posted first. I hope this is all not too confusing, but I realized I never really explained what was going on with the interludes, so I just wanted to clarify. Additionally, this is Victor's POV.

_:Halliwell:_

A few times, Chris had come to stay with him-Chris Perry, wayward grandchild who had yet to be born. Victor would come out of his bedroom and find him asleep on the couch, or standing in the kitchen, blinking owlishly and drinking coffee like it was the only thing that could save him from falling on his face. Victor loved those mornings. He knew that Chris was only getting a few hours of sleep, was probably orbing in from a late night demon hunt, something Victor got the impression that he did alone a lot, so that the sisters could go about pretending there was a part of their lives that was "normal." Victor only had to look at Chris, and look at Chris again as the mound on his daughter's stomach to see that "normal" was totally out of the picture.

Sometimes they would sit and talk-nothing big, just small things, like what new disaster Phoebe was visiting upon her hair, or what new job Paige had managed to land herself in, complete with her antics trying to get back out, though minus a few supernatural details, Victor was often sure. It was those mornings that were "normal." Just sitting and talking, drinking coffee and pretending that his grandchild hadn't come in from a demon hunt, and wouldn't head right back out into one. They never talked "shop," as it were. Never a hint of the danger his family lived in, and never a hint of what Chris felt about being the pariah turned family, even though Victor felt that he could relate a bit to that.

Once Victor had woken up and opened his door quietly, afraid that he would wake Chris. But he wasn't sleeping. He was sitting on the chair, back to Victor, head in hands, and Victor could tell he was shaking even in the dim light. Torn between the comfort he would offer his daughters and would like to offer his grandson, and the knowledge that Chris didn't come there for more than coffee and easy conversation and companionship, he had gone back into his room and come out again with a loud yawn and a thunk of his big toe against the doorjamb. They had laughed together at breakfast over an old man's bumbling, and if Victor thought that Chris's eyes looked a little redder than a lack of sleep would warrant, he didn't say anything about it at all.

Now Victor made his grandsons peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and poured them big glasses of milk and sent them to sit on the couch in his apartment.

Wyatt ate his like it was just as good as anything their chef mother could have come up with. That is to say that he inhaled it and probably never tasted much of anything anyway.

Chris held the plate with the sandwich on it in one hand and the glass of milk in the other and made no move to ingest either. Victor sat in his lazy boy and watched them. He'd managed to say, "What--?" at the doorway after he'd opened the door before Wyatt shook his head and pushed his way into the apartment, cutting him off. Chris had followed and never looked up or made any attempt to make eye contact. Then he'd made them the snack like they were still in grade school and sat with them while they ate. While Wyatt ate.

Eventually, Chris put his plate and glass down on the coffee table and sat back. Wyatt took his empty dishes back into the kitchen. While Wyatt was out, Chris said, "I didn't think he'd come for me."

Victor leaned forward and tried to catch Chris' eyes. He could see now that they were red, but they still wouldn't meet his own. He said, "Chris, your brother will always come for you. You know that."

Chris turned his head to the side, away from Victor and away from the doorway where Wyatt was now standing.

"Not Wyatt. Dad. Leo."

For awhile, none of them said anything. Wyatt came back and sat down and put his hand on Chris' shoulder. "What are you talking about, Chris?"

Chris shrugged a little, then said, "I was in jail. I was there for awhile, and I thought he wouldn't come. But then he did, and he called me son." Chris finally turned around and looked at them. "He called me son."

Wyatt peered at him curiously. "Well, of course he would. He's your dad."

Victor watched while the boys looked at each other. Watched while Wyatt's brows pulled down into a frown.

When Chris didn't say anything more, Victor reached across and put a hand on Chris' knee. "Chris?" he said, "Chris, you were never in jail. I've known you all your life, and I know that Leo never had to come get you out of jail."

Chris turned to look at him, really look, and Victor knew.

He was looking at Chris Perry. He was looking at the young man who had been so happy to see him, who had saved his life from an early death by throat or lung cancer, who had given him hope that he would be close to his family. That he would have this moment, with grandsons who loved him, with daughters that shared their lives with him, even after everything. He was looking at the young man who slept on his couch and drank coffee with him in the mornings.

But he was looking at Chris Halliwell, too. He was looking at the little baby he had held in his arms, at the little boy who had run circles around his apartment and around him with an older brother who adored him. The little boy who had been a surly teen who still sat in his living room and chatted with him, about school, about magic, about his family, and asked for coffee even though Victor maintained that he was still too young. The teen, and now the man who had always remembered—the same man, born twice into the same family that wasn't the same at all.

Chris Perry and Chris Halliwell. They had always been the same. Chris Perry Halliwell.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to his grandson, and Chris closed his eyes.

_:Halliwell:_

Once, when he was a much younger man, his little girl had fallen and scraped her knee. Little Piper. But she hadn't howled like Prue, or pouted and sobbed like Phoebe. Not Piper. She had only reached out her arms for him, and he had gathered her up and hugged her all the way into the bathroom to get a band aid.

Piper. His beautiful, quiet little girl. The girl with the sad eyes and the quiet temperament. Quiet, but fierce. She was the one who held her sisters together, the one who clung to her family with passion and determination. Who mourned them when they were gone, who fought for them when they were in trouble.

Who had never managed to quite forgive her son for being just like her.

_:Halliwell:_

"What's going on?"

Wyatt. His hand was still on his little brother's shoulder, but now he was watching Victor.

"Grandpa?"

"Wyatt, I think that that is a story Chris needs to tell. But until he does," Victor patted Chris' knee before sitting back in chair, "you just need to trust in your family." He thought of his little girl. "You need to trust that your family will make it through, just like it always has."

"Um, okay," Wyatt said, and sat back as well, his hand falling from Chris' shoulder, and when Victor looked at Chris, he looked small and alone sitting there on the couch.

_:Halliwell:_

Piper was a sweet girl, and a good student. She didn't have a million friends like Prue and she didn't fight with any attempt at authority like Phoebe. She was the middle child: mediator, pacifier, voice of reason.

She shared her toys with Phoebe when the youngest was going through the terrible twos, and didn't complain too much when they came back broken or stained, or didn't come at all.

She watched quietly while Prue got to do big kid things, like she knew that it would be her turn one day too.

She listened to her teachers, and she listened to Grams, and she only cried a little when daddy told her he had to go away for awhile.

Not that she was a perfect child. Oh, the three of them could put their heads together and be downright hellions. Scheming to play pranks on Grams; scheming to play pranks on him; uniting against him when he wasn't there for them enough. Which he wasn't; and he knew that. But it never meant he didn't love them.

_:Halliwell:_

When Chris finally spoke, it was, "Mom doesn't like me very much," and Wyatt startled next to him like there had been a sudden noise, but there was only silence.

He said, "I mean, she loves me. I know she must, because she always did. She just doesn't like me much."

He took a deep breath, which Wyatt unconsciously echoed. Both of them trying to keep themselves in check, but Chris let his out, and Wyatt was holding his breath.

"And dad… Dad never liked me. Not before. Not until that day in jail, when he only knew that he should hate me.

"I was surprised, you know, that Leo would call me son. I had been Chris for so long—I mean, Chris who sent him to Valhalla, Chris who put his family in danger, who brought demons near his son. He even said once that I wasn't family." He stopped and breathed for a while, and then reached out and finally took a drink from his glass.

"But I really felt like family that day, and later when he told me that as my father, he was supposed to be protecting me, and not the other way around. I even felt like family that day when I—" He choked a little on whatever he had been about to say and covered it by taking another drink.

"When what, Chris?" Wyatt asked, hesitantly, but Victor got up suddenly and cleared his throat while smoothing down his pants. He knew what was coming, but he wasn't ready. He wished he could stub his toe again, and they could laugh about it. Anything but what he knew Chris had been about to tell them.

_:Halliwell:_

Piper asked him about it once. Asked him about her mom and what it was like.

Death.

It was one of the few times he actually wanted Penny's advice about something. He wanted to tell Piper to ask her grandmother.

But she had those huge brown eyes and she was his quiet child, his good child, and she deserved to hear about it from her father.

He bought her an ice cream cone and they sat in a park together, just the two of them. Prue was off with friends and Phoebe was at home with Penny refusing to do her chores.

"You mom was very brave," he said. "Just like you are."

_:Halliwell:_

"I need a drink," he said, and left for the kitchen. He grabbed a glass from the cupboard and stood in front of the sink, glass dangling empty from his hand. He wondered if this avoidance made him a bad grandfather. But he remembered it. He remembered being told that Chris was dead, and being handed a baby. A sleepy baby that surely didn't look like it remembered dying, or death, or twenty-odd years of life.

"It wasn't that bad." Chris said, from behind him. "I won't tell you anything you don't want to know, Grandpa, but I just thought you should know that."

Victor swung around and threw the glass at the wall, where it shattered. Chris didn't budge, but he saw Wyatt jump up from the couch behind him.

"You were stabbed, Chris! You bled out and died and no one was even with you! How can that possibly be 'not that bad'?"

"I wasn't alone! Dad was there, and Paige."

"At the end. Your dad was there at the end."

"He was busy."

Victor threw his hands up in the air in disgust. "Busy? Too busy for his dying son!"

"Wyatt was missing, Grandpa! Wyatt was kidnapped and there was nothing anyone could do for me. Besides, I knew that everything was going to be okay. And here we are now, and Wyatt's not evil and mom's still alive. Everything is okay!"

Victor rushed over to Chris and grabbed him by the shoulders. He shook him and said in a tight voice, "Everything is not okay. Everything is far from okay!"

Chris raised his own hands to knock Victors away and turned to gesture at Wyatt. "Look at him! He's good, Grandpa, and that's all that matters."

Wyatt stood there like a deer in the headlights, eyes wide and confused, but Victor didn't even look at him, just reached back out, grabbed Chris's chin and wrenched his head back around so they were staring at each other.

"You matter, too, Chris."

_:Halliwell:_

He wondered, sometimes, about his girls. When he wasn't there. When Penny was refusing to let him see them. When he was being too stubborn to just go and see them anyway.

He wondered if they missed him. He wondered if they hated him. He wondered what he would even say to them. He wondered how to let them know that despite his not being there, despite his not being there _for them_, whether they still knew that he loved them.

He loved them.

Unconditionally.

Piper was a beautiful child, full of life and joy and love. He hoped that she knew that he loved her. He knew that she would always love any child of hers.

Unconditionally.

_:Halliwell:_

He was still gripping Chris's jaw, still in his face, and he was glad because otherwise he wasn't sure he would have been able to hear his grandson.

He whispered, "They don't need me anymore. I'm not supposed to be here."

Victor let go of him, but Chris didn't move, just kept staring at Victor.

"I died, Grandpa. The second time around, I was a mistake. I got scared that I wasn't going to exist anymore, but it would have been better. I was okay with dying. Really, I was okay with that."

He turned away to look at Wyatt, still standing frozen by the couch.

"It would have been worth it."

Wyatt collapsed onto the couch and looked shell-shocked. He looked like his world had just caved in. And maybe it had been headed that way for a while. But now it was there, now it was certain. Everything had just been irrevocably changed.

Victor wished he hadn't given up smoking.

Victor wished he'd never run away from his girls. He wished he'd never let them out of his sight for a minute. Not in all the years since he first held baby Prue in his arms.

"It wouldn't have been worth it," he said. He gripped Chris by the arm and led him over to the couch where he forced him back to sitting. "It would not have been worth it. I have two grandsons, Chris. I don't know what's going on at the manor right now, but I have two grandsons, and that's what matters to me."

Chris shrugged a little and stared down at the coffee table in front of him.

Wyatt stirred a little, looked over at his little brother like he was seeing him for the first time and asked, "You died for me?"

Chris was silent for a long time, and then he smirked a little. "Only to keep you from killing me first, Wy."

Wyatt didn't find it amusing. In fact, he started to look like Victor imagined he had looked when he threw the glass at the wall. Enraged.

Chris, on the other hand, looked exhausted. He looked like he couldn't deal with any more of this just now.

"Chris," he said, "why don't you lie down for a while? Take a nap. We can work this out later."

Chris nodded a bit, and lay down on the couch in a daze once Victor had grabbed Wyatt and started hauling him off towards the kitchen. Victor stood in the doorway for a while, watching Chris settle in, then pulled the door shut before turning back to Wyatt.

"He would have made a great older brother, you know. It's a shame that your parents decided against more children."

"I can't believe this, grandpa! After he died for me, they treat him like this? Like he's an outcast or something?" Wyatt started pacing, and Victor let him go.

"He used to watch you, and play with you, and feed you sometimes. He probably even had to change you."

"His parents, grandpa! His parents can barely even tolerate him! What for? Because he saved me? Because that doesn't make any sense, grandpa!"

"Well, he watched you, but sometimes he brought demons home as well. I imagine that's where some of the animosity is coming from."

"What?"

"Sit down Wyatt. I think we have a few things to discuss."

"Grandpa—"

"Sit. So I can, too. I'm not as young as I used to be, you know, and your pacing is making me dizzy. But I never would have made it this far if Chris hadn't told me to give up smoking." They sat together at opposite ends of the small kitchen table. And Victor thought about sitting there with Chris, years and years ago.

"I don't even remember you smoking."

"Good, it's a filthy habit anyway. I wouldn't ever want to think that you had picked it up from me."

"So Chris, what? Came back in time to save me from becoming evil or something?"

"That's about it. He came back to save his family, and to save the world. You're pretty formidable when you're pissed off, you know."

Wyatt snorted and ran his hands through his hair, defusing.

"He came back to save us, but was his normal personable self doing it, huh? And mom and the aunts didn't like it?"

"Well, Chris didn't tell anyone for a long time who he was or what he was doing. He told them his name was Chris Perry, and he set himself up as the girls' whitelighter and put them to work. They didn't like it much, and no matter the reason, the methods just…grated, I suppose."

Victor ran his hand over the table, wiping it clean like it would help him to see his memories more clearly. He sighed.

"After they found out who he was, things got better, but a year's worth of animosity just doesn't disappear. So they all tried really hard to get along with one another. And for Leo and Chris, that worked out. But the girls never really got over it, I guess. Piper mainly ignored it because of the new baby on the way, Phoebe avoided things and was busy with work, and Paige threw herself into saving you. Not at all surprising, really.

"And then you were kidnapped, by Gideon, as you may have heard before, and Chris was stabbed in the process. He died. But he was born at the same time. I'm not sure how it is that he has a full set of memories from his first life. That part is a surprise, as you may have noticed."

"So Chris Perry and the Charmed Ones didn't along," Wyatt said, looking less angry, and more resigned. "And now Chris and mom and the aunts don't get along too well either."

"You're taking this rather well."

"I'm not sure how I'm supposed to take it."

Victor nodded, "I know how you feel." He was still running his hand over the table, thinking about his daughters and his grandchildren. A happy family, a screwed up family. They had all come so far, and yet there was still so much further to go. There aren't any solid resolutions, he knew that. There was only trying as hard as they all could to make the most of their lives; through their joys and through their sorrows, and despite all their mistakes.


	6. Chapter 4

So…Chapter 4. Leo POV. This was almost an interlude, and then it got long…Part of it still counts as in interlude in my opinion, because you may notice that the first thousand words or so are the Leo and Piper conversation in the kitchen from Chapter 1, but the story actually progresses from there, so it's a chapter. Thanks again to everyone for reading and to those who left me notes. You're all so kind. This chapter is especially for MargotTenn, for that last little nudge over the writer's blockade that I'd built for myself.

Disclaimer: Charmed isn't mine. Hey, did any of you see Drew Fuller in his new movie, "The Ultimate Gift"? He does an excellent job, and often times I could see bits of Chris in him still… The movie's not mine either. Neither is Drew Fuller. I know, you're all surprised, right?

_:Halliwell:_

"Hey, dad? I know you're probably busy, but I've got a soccer game and I was wondering if you would come. You don't have to, but I just thought…maybe you'd want to?"

Leo stood in kitchen after Piper and her sisters had gone and remembered Chris asking him that. He remembered Chris always asking like he didn't think his father would ever say yes. And he remembered Chris Perry telling him that his father hadn't been there for him. So he went to all the games and all the birthdays and still Chris always asked like he was going to be disappointed.

He'd only ever missed one kindergarten play. There'd been a crisis at Magic School. Students had been going missing and they had thought that evil had found a way in. He hadn't meant to miss the play, but he didn't have a choice, and he'd even sent an apology letter when he couldn't come home right away himself while they were cleaning up the mess at the school.

He thought maybe the letter had made it worse.

Piper had been crying in the kitchen when he'd gotten home, dinner burned and cooling on the stove top in front of her.

She'd said, "I can barely stand to look at him, Leo," and he'd known exactly who she'd meant. He'd known because he had seen it. Seen the way his youngest son and his beloved wife tread on eggshells around each other, when they were around each other at all. He'd seen it, and he hadn't done anything about it. What kind of husband and father did that make him?

"Piper…" he'd said, but trailed off. He didn't know what to do about it even now. He knew that his wife and her sisters still looked at Chris and saw the whitelighter that they hadn't trusted, that they hadn't even liked. How was he supposed to convince them to love him?

As for himself, he remembered his own feelings for Chris Perry. He remembered the hatred he'd felt at Valhalla, and at the rift that had grown in that time between him and Piper. He remembered all the negative emotions and impressions he'd had of the young whitelighter, and he remembered that after he'd found out he was his son, it just hadn't mattered anymore.

Maybe it had something to do with getting hit in the face a few times.

Not that he would ever wish such violence upon the girls. Just that Chris hadn't pushed at them like he had at Leo. He'd let them do what they wanted, and ignore him or push him around, and Leo thought maybe it was because their future selves had loved him, and his future self had screwed up and ignored him. So they got a free pass with Chris Perry, and never learned to see him as just a boy trying to save his family and not a neurotic whitelighter, and now everything was a mess again.

He'd sat down at the kitchen table, but hadn't thought of anything else to say.

She'd said, "I mean, I know that they're not the same. My brain knows that," and come to sit next to him. She'd said, "I don't think my heart knows that, Leo."

And that was it. That was the problem. Because they were the same. Chris Perry had been a child of this family. He'd come from a future darker than they could imagine, but he'd been a Halliwell, and they should have loved him. But he couldn't tell his wife that. He didn't know how to tell Piper that her problems with her son now were caused by her problems with a man that she'd known was family, and never really accepted anyway.

So he'd said, "Piper, he's our son. We love him. He knows that, no matter what's going on between us right now. It'll get better, Piper. It's just a phase. We've been upset with Wyatt before, too."

And he'd tried really hard to pretend that he wasn't lying, but she'd begun to cry anyway, and he felt more foolish, because he knew how to fix this, and wasn't even trying. He'd felt impotent, and all he'd done was reach out and hold her hands in his.

She'd said through her tears, "I never wished that we would be this way, Leo. I used to think, once he's mine, really mine, then it'll all be different. But it wasn't."

He'd grabbed her hands over the table to try and comfort her, but that was all he could do. And later, when Wyatt had stepped into the kitchen, they had both brightened, because he was their happy child, their uncomplicated child in comparison, even with the whole Twice Blessed, Used-to-be-Evil thing. Whatever Wyatt was now or had been in the magical world, at home he was the smile on their faces and the light in their eyes. It was hard not to be happy when Wyatt was happy.

But Wyatt wasn't happy. And when Chris had come in behind him, they'd known why.

"Are we eating?" Chris had asked, but Piper hadn't answered, and before Leo had even had a moment to try and think of something to say, Wyatt's face had become even unhappier. Leo had watched him, and exhaled until his lungs were empty and hadn't bothered to breathe at all after that.

"Or, I could order something in, I guess. I mean, we haven't done that in a while." Chris had waited a little longer and then, when still no answer had been forthcoming, had headed out of the kitchen.

Once he had gone, Piper had finally found her voice, but she hadn't gotten past more than Wyatt's nickname when their son's anger had finally come out.

He'd shaken his head and said, "I don't understand it, and right now, I don't really care. I'm taking Chris and going to Grandpa's for dinner. Maybe for a little longer than that."

And then he'd been gone, and Piper had been sobbing like crazy and he had sat there and held her hand and said nothing.

He'd sat there long after the burned dinner had cooled and after Phoebe and Paige had come and tried to talk to them, and after all three girls had left the room.

He'd known he was supposed to say something heartfelt and uplifting. He was supposed to tell them something about how they hadn't done anything wrong. That they had followed their emotions and that if they kept doing that everything would work out.

But he knew that if he told them to keep following their emotions he would probably never see his youngest son again.

Because their emotions had brought them to this. Their emotions had led them to seeing Chris as something other than family.

So he'd said nothing.

When he'd finally convinced himself to move again, he'd stood there, thinking of Chris. He was still thinking of Chris when he started to gasp, like his lungs had finally started to protest the lack of air. He gasped and gasped, and finally ran from the room. He couldn't be there anymore and play back in his mind the way his family had just fallen apart. He ran until he reached Chris's room, and grasped the doorframe with white knuckled hands as he looked in at a tidy room.

Wyatt must have made the bed before they'd left, because Chris wouldn't have done it. Chris would have gotten up in the morning, slid out of bed and walked away from the crumpled sheets and disarrayed pillows because it didn't matter to him. What were sheets and pillows to demon hunting anyway?

Leo shook his head, tried to breathe, and tried to figure out why the line between his son and the son that he had known years and years ago had suddenly felt very blurry.

He let go of the doorframe and stumbled over to the bed, collapsing onto it and gripping the covers in his hands.

He was still gasping when he fell asleep.

_:Halliwell:_

Asleep, he bounced his son on his hip and threw him up over his head, and Leo laughed while Chris squealed in delight.

Asleep, he ran around the back yard with his boys, playing a messed up game of Hide 'n Go Seek meets Freeze Tag. There was a bright orange bouncy ball in there, too. None of them understood the rules, and yet they all did.

Asleep, Chris drowsed in his arms while Leo struggled to read the Berenstain Bears with all the appropriate voices and sound effects

Asleep, Chris was still his little boy, and there were no demons or demon hunts. There were no fights between parent and child, and there was definitely no silence where there should only be laughter and joy.

_:Halliwell:_

When he woke up, it was dark and the manor was silent. In the hallway, he could hear voices upstairs, but he headed down instead. He stopped at the bottom of the stairs where he could see the backs of Phoebe and Paige's heads, resting against one another, perhaps even asleep, but he doubted it.

He stepped into the room, and Paige lifted her head and turned around to see him there, sniffling a little.

"Wyatt's upstairs," she said.

"Chris?"

She shook her head. "Hasn't been here."

Phoebe finally turned around, and her eyes were still red and glossy. "Go get him," she said.

_:Halliwell:_

As a child, Chris loved to go to Victor's apartment. At least, he never complained when they dropped him off there unexpectedly. And when they picked him up later he was always in a good mood, which never seemed to last the entire trip home, even if that trip was as short as orbing across the city.

One time, Chris had laughed and laughed while Leo stood in the living room holding the bag of toys they had left with the boys.

"What's up, buddy?" he had asked, unaccustomed to seeing his younger son so jovial. "What's so funny?"

Victor clearing his throat had caused Leo to look up to see the older man covered in green goop.

"The boys decided to try a little potion making with the contents of my cupboards today."

He reached behind him to produce an equally green Wyatt.

"Apparently, Wyatt needs a little more practice. And Chris needs to learn how to share the things he knows."

Leo looked at the bag in his hands. "I thought you guys had Play-doh?"

After they got home, Chris hadn't laughed anymore, and Leo began to look forward to picking Chris up from Victor's as the happiest he ever knew his son since he had learned to tie his own shoes.

_:Halliwell:_

Leo orbed to Victor's building and walked up to the apartment. He knocked on the door politely and waited until Victor opened the door just enough to slip out into the hallway himself.

"I don't think it's a good time, Leo," he said, after he had shut the door again behind him.

"It never will be, Victor, but he's my son. I need to talk to him. I need to try and make this right."

"Well, you can't right now. He's asleep."

"On your couch? No one could sleep on that thing."

"Chris could. Chris did, for months before he was born, and for years after that." Victor crossed his arms and stood his ground, a barricade between a man and his son.

"Victor. Please."

Victor studied him a little longer, long enough to let him know he disapproved, Leo supposed, and then opened the door and gestured him in.

"I'm going to go," he said, "get a coffee or something," and closed the door after Leo was all the way into the living room.

Leo stopped only a few short steps into the room and looked at his son, supposedly sleeping on the couch. He back was turned and he was curled into the cushions.

Leo walked up to him and sat on the coffee table before reaching a hand out to rest lightly on his shoulder.

_:Halliwell:_

Sometimes, Leo would come home late and stand in the doorways of his sons' rooms and stare into the darkness at their sleeping forms.

Chris was often a restless sleeper, turning and thrashing, and many times he had gone in to put an arm or a leg back on the bed, or to rearrange the covers so that they could actually do their job to keep his son warm.

A few times, Chris had lain in bed and stared back at him in the doorway, but they never spoke.

Mostly, Leo watched his boy sleep, and prayed silently for good dreams, for laughter and games and anything to keep him happy. If only he had spent the time and effort on Chris when he was awake.

_:Halliwell:_

"Go away."

"No."

"Please, just… I'm tired."

"I don't think you'll sleep."

Chris sighed and finally rolled over and sat up in one motion. They stared at each other.

Chris broke the gaze first to sigh again and run his hands through his hair.

"You keep doing that," he said finally.

Leo frowned a little, not following Chris's train of thought.

"Coming to rescue me," he said, with a wave of his hand. "But I don't need to be rescued. So please, just go."

"I can't do that, Chris. I told you once, that we're supposed to protect you, not the other way around. I meant it. I still do."

Chris turned his head away, but looked back at him after a while out of the corner of his eye. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"I think you do."

Chris stood up and backed away around the couch. "No. I don't."

"Chris," Leo said, and sighed. "This is part of the problem. You've got to talk to us."

"Talk to you?" Chris said, and was suddenly angry. "What am I supposed to say? Oh by the way, I remember how much you hate me?"

"No, Chris," Leo said and jumped up to his feet as well. "We don't hate you!"

"Yeah? Tell that to mom, and the aunts. Or better yet, just look at them when I'm around. Because maybe that's not hate, Leo, but it's sure not like they're happy to see me."

Leo held his hands out in what he meant as a placating gesture. "I'm not Leo, Chris. I'm dad. Remember? You saved us."

"I didn't! I didn't save anything!" He began to pace behind the couch, out of Leo's reach.

"You have Wyatt, Chris. You saved Wyatt, and you saved us, and you can still save the rest. There's time."

"How?" He stopped and threw his arms up. "How am I supposed to do that, huh? What am I supposed to do?" He put his arms back down and leaned forward on the back of the couch. He looked defeated, and Leo felt real pain to see him that way.

"I don't know yet, but I'll help you," he said, reaching forward to put his hands on his boy's shoulders. "I'll help you."

_:Halliwell:_

The last time he picked Chris up from Victor's, he had been there alone, Wyatt now being allowed to vanquish with the sisters.

Chris had looked up from a book and asked, "Can't I just stay here?"

At home there were fights, and there was silence. Maybe it was selfish of him, but Leo said no.

_:Halliwell:_

"I don't think I can do it. I don't think I can face them."

They had ended up sitting next to each other on the couch, Chris with his feet up on the table and his hands clasped together over his knees.

"They're not that scary, Chris. They're just family."

"That's what makes them scary. They're family, so they matter more."

"Yeah, they do. They matter enough to try. And you matter enough to them that they'll listen. I promise."

Victor came in the door at that moment, a tray in hand with coffee for three. He looked at them for a moment, sitting calmly next to one another.

"Get your feet off my table, Chris."

Chris smirked a little while he did as he was told, and Leo felt a little hope spring up inside of him. Chris was still there. The little boy who made up games with his brother and laughed at his grandfather while he was covered in yet another potion gone wrong was still there.

Now all they had to do was figure out a way to reconcile the child they had watched grow up with the man who had come to them all grown up. They had to figure out a way maybe not to fix things, but at least to try and understand them.

And they were not okay. They were far from it. But Leo felt for the first time a long time that things could actually get better. He hoped that Chris felt it, too.


	7. Chapter 5

Well, this is it. It's been a long hard battle, finally finishing my first WIP. I hope that you all are pleased enough with the result. This isn't to say that there's not a lot more to say about the mess that was created in this story between these characters, just that whatever comes next, that's a whole new ball game and something that I'm not planning on going into any time soon (my head spins just thinking about it). Thank you to everyone who took the time to read or to review. For all of you waiting so patiently for me to finally crank this out, apologies for the wait, I hope this at least lives up somewhat to your expectations.

_:Halliwell:_

Chris knew who he was

Chris knew who he was. He had lived two lifetimes, consecutively. He remembered growing up, and growing up again. He remembered how first it was his father he struggled with, and now it was his mother. He remembered his older brother evil, and now he knew his older brother as good.

But he wasn't confused about any of that. It just was.

There had been moments when he'd wanted to blurt it all out. He'd wanted to shove it in Wyatt's face as a child many times. Times when Chris wasn't good enough to hang out with his older brother, times when the aunts seemed to favor Wyatt. _Well, you were evil before, so there!_ But he knew, he always knew, that it didn't matter. Wyatt wasn't evil now, he didn't even remember being evil. Wyatt was good, and Chris had messed with things enough that whatever was left for him would have to be okay.

And he'd often wanted to yell it at his mother, at the aunts. _I saved you! I saved you and you're not even grateful. You can't even look at me. What's the matter with you? What's the matter with me? _But he couldn't. There was still evil to fight, demons to vanquish. There was no time for whining, no time for petulance. He'd made this bed, and he would lie in it.

Sometimes he would wonder why it was that he remembered. It often felt like a punishment. On his fourteenth birthday he'd woken up shaking crying, and it wasn't until the day was over and everyone was still alive that he'd let himself relax. It hadn't been too great of a birthday, in either lifetime. Other times he'd start to say something, and have to catch himself. _You remember the spider demon, dad? Remember when you kicked me out of the manor, mom?_ And they did remember those things, but he wasn't supposed to. He was supposed to be a normal Halliwell, which isn't very normal at all, but other Halliwell's don't come with previous lives tucked under their belts. Other Halliwell's are just what they appear to be.

Maybe that was why they didn't like him.

He remembers lying, and scheming, and how they felt about it. But he remembers how he felt about it, too. He remembers that there were things that were just more important than everyone's feelings at the time. He remembers, and he wouldn't change it. He'd done what he'd thought was right and Wyatt hadn't turned into an evil dictator and killed the rest of the family. He was going to stick to that.

"Chris?" Leo was still sitting next to him, Victor since retreated again to bed or to read or just to leave them some time alone. They'd stopped arguing, stopped talking, and the room had been silent for several minutes. He looked at his father, really looked, and saw a man he'd tried to beat to death, a man who'd deserted him and ignored him. He saw a man who knew he'd made a mistake (even though _he_ hadn't technically made it) and was trying to make amends. He saw two fathers, and even though he'd always loved both, it was hard for him to reconcile one with the other. He saw two fathers, and they were both tired.

Chris knew who he was, but maybe he didn't really know who the rest of the family was anymore. He kept waiting for Leo to disappear, for Wyatt to turn evil. He kept waiting for the sisters to kick him out of the manor. He kept waiting for his life to be only an amalgam of the worst of both lifetimes, rather than fighting for the best of both.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah."

_:Halliwell:_

The first time, Chris had been a much loved youngest child. He'd been a happy baby, held and comforted and cooed at. He'd been spoiled and fussed over, and left often in the company of a proud older brother. The first time, he had been just another Halliwell, just another of a special line of witches, loved and cherished as only members of their family were.

The second time, maybe because he wasn't a surprise, was just himself all over again, he'd been just a little bit forgotten.

_:Halliwell:_

"Nothing's going to change if you don't try to change it," Leo said, and Chris thought about Bianca, who he had loved, and left, and later been forced to watch die. She was gone now; the only part of her that remained in his life was his memory. She'd wanted him to change things, too. She'd known he was the only one who could.

And he had. And now he was supposed to shelve himself away and do it again. He was supposed to fix one of fate's mistakes and open himself up to questions and interrogations about everything he did not want to talk about. He did not want to talk about the things he remembered. There was no point. It was over and done, and they had all made their choices.

"Sure," he said. "I'll do that. Maybe I'll even open a few time portals while I'm at it. Remember the time mom made me go on that fieldtrip instead of staying with the family for that demon hunt? What a mess that was. And here I knew all along how to make that potion, but it was me that everyone was mad at when that came out. I didn't send myself away. I could change that."

"Chris…" Leo started, a little stunned at the shift in emotions, at the quick way Chris was getting agitated.

"Or forget about a time portal. I guess I really need a portal into another world. I need a portal to take me back to that time mom was murdered, and I could fix that."

"I don't think that—"

"Just how much could I change, do you think, before the whole world sucks itself into a black hole. I could destroy the earth." He cocked his head to the side. "Hell, that's nothing Wyatt hasn't tried before."

"This isn't healthy," Leo said. "And you know that's not what I meant."

"You're right. I can't stand portals anyway." Chris stood up. "I think I'll go home now. There're some things I want to consult the book for."

Leo stood up as well. "Now hold on a minute. Rushing home angry isn't going to make things change the way you want them to."

Chris stared at him, at the lines under his eyes and the desperation in them. He shrugged. "I'm done changing the world," he said. "Let someone else have a turn."

_:Halliwell:_

The first time, Chris had played video games and action figures and Legos. He'd spent time with his brother and his cousins, learning all the things that young children learn: how to share and how to give, what will hurt others and what will make them happy, what will hurt him and what will make him happy. Sure, Wyatt may have been a bit traumatized, may have already been started on a path towards infamy, but when they were young they were still happy enough.

The second time, he'd already known those things, had spent his time focusing on what he thought were more important things, and he'd been just a little bit ostracized.

_:Halliwell:_

He orbed into the attic only a fraction of a second before Leo materialized behind him. He went instantly for the book, noticing, but ignoring Piper and Wyatt on the little couch. He used his powers to flip open the cover before he even reached it, and the pages flew like a strong wind had caught them.

Piper made a little gasp as she watched him, and stood up only to be caught and restrained by Leo.

"Chris?" Wyatt asked, stepping around his parents to get to his little brother.

"I think I have a solution," he said, and the book stopped on a relatively unadorned page. He picked it up and thrust it at Wyatt, then left the attic, headed down the stairs. He heard the book hit the floor of the attic, and Wyatt was grabbing his arm on the stairs before he even made it to the landing.

"You aren't serious!" he yelled, spinning Chris until they were nose to nose.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Chris asked, wrenching his arm free. "Don't I look serious to you?"

"A memory spell? That's not a solution to anything."

"It fixes everything," he said. "No one has to pretend anymore if they don't have anything to remember. This will make them happier. This will make _me_ happier."

"You're lying," Wyatt said, but Chris only shrugged and continued on to his room.

"They're used to that," he said. "I'd say you'll get used to it, too, but you won't remember, so it won't make any difference."

_:Halliwell:_

The first time, Chris had watched his older brother grow more and more distant, more and more angry. He'd watched his family fall apart from stress and lies and deaths. He'd watched as his mother died and his father might as well have. He'd watched his brother become the Source. And throughout it all, he'd kept fighting, kept trying. There may have been a few times he'd fallen off track, but he'd always had people there helping him get it together. He'd had aunts, and cousins and Bianca. He'd everyone until he was the last one left, until he'd finally managed to do what it was they had all been fighting for.

The second time, he had the prize they'd all wanted, and he'd been just a little bit disappointed.

_:Halliwell:_

Chris started digging into his closet and his dresser, throwing things out onto the bed. He could sense Wyatt standing in the doorway, staring at him.

"I'd like to see you try," Wyatt said finally, after Chris had made decent headway on a sizeable pile.

"What's that?" Chris asked, not at all expecting that response.

"I'd like to see you try and cast a spell on me," he said. Wyatt's voice was low and steady. He hated it. He hated how calm and easy going his older brother was.

"Oh, because you're the chosen one? Mister Twice Blessed. I guess I couldn't handle that, huh? I guess I'm just not good enough." He picked a book up and threw it against the wall, enjoying the thwack it made against the plaster, enjoying the way he saw Wyatt jump out of the corner of his eye.

"Well whatever, Wyatt. Do it yourself or don't do it all. I don't really care." He still didn't look over towards the doorway.

"That's not true," Wyatt said. "You do care."

Chris shrugged, then grabbed a bag and started shoving things into it. "So? Even if I did, it's not like it matters to anyone."

He heard Wyatt sigh, and come into the room, before finally sitting on the bed facing him. "Stop that and listen to me," Wyatt said, and reached a hand out to grab his nearest wrist, stilling him. Chris didn't pull away this time.

"She cried on my shoulder."

Chris didn't say anything.

"She cried on my shoulder and she told me about you; about what you were like, and what they were like. She told me that she didn't love you the way she should have."

Chris turned his head away.

"That's what you wanted right? You wanted her to admit that she'd done wrong by you."

He pulled his hand and sat down on the foot of the bed, presenting Wyatt with his back.

"No, I didn't want that," he said. "I wanted there to never be a problem in the first place. I wanted to never have a reason to bury anything away in the back yard. And that reason, that problem wasn't her, it was me. I'm the problem, Wy."

_:Halliwell:_

The first time, Chris had lied, and cheated, and brought demons into the house and consorted with everything but all out evil. He had given the sisters away in order to have them learn a lesson, and he'd messed with their potions and their hunts. He'd forgotten that they were young, and inexperienced compared to the mother and the aunt he'd already lost. And he hadn't cared. He'd put the ends above the means, the world above his family. In the end, he'd gotten what he needed, but he hadn't anticipated the expense.

The second time, he shouldn't have been surprised when there was fallout, and he'd been just a little bit despised.

_:Halliwell:_

Wyatt sighed again, and it was heavy. Chris could hear the weight settling in on his shoulders, and he didn't like it. He didn't like what he had done to this family. He'd tried to make things better, and everyone was still alive, but better was relative. He caused problems every time he opened his mouth, and often when he didn't.

Maybe if he'd only been more carefree, if he'd been able to take the gift of a second chance and not look at it with the eyes of one who'd already seen the world go up in flames. Maybe. But that wasn't him, and he knew who he was. He was Chris. He just was. He wanted them to love him for him, but you couldn't throw all the worst parts of yourself out there and expect no one to notice.

They'd definitely noticed.

There was a throat cleared at the doorway. Chris didn't have to turn to see who was standing there. He'd recognize that noise, that voice, that presence, anywhere. Piper. His mother. And no doubt his father, too, standing just off her shoulder. He wouldn't look. He couldn't.

"I'd like to talk to you, if I could," she said, and the bed moved when Wyatt stood up to leave. There was a brief murmur of voices, of Leo and Wyatt greeting one another and moving off. The door closed gently and then it was just them. Just mother and son, just whitelighter and witch. Just Piper and Chris.

She sat in the spot Wyatt had vacated, or near about. Chris still didn't turn to look, but he felt the bed shift again, less than before. She wasn't a large woman, much slighter than Wyatt, and than he himself. Chris looked down at his hands instead, at fingers twisted around each other.

She cleared her throat a little again when it was clear he wasn't going to turn or speak, and then she started.

"When you were a little boy…" she said, and trailed off. He'd rarely heard her sound so uncertain. "When you were a baby," she tried again, "they handed you to me, and I didn't know you had died. You were so little, so red and frail, and I really knew you were mine."

She stopped and shifted on the bed. It seemed nervous of her, and he didn't like it.

"Chris? The baby in my arms, he was new and fresh and later when they said you had died... I think for a second I thought that the baby wasn't you. I think I thought, 'Well okay, that's over. Here's something new.' I know that's horrible, but you were dead. You were dead and it seemed like things could be less secretive, less difficult.

"And then you started to grow up and I could see. You weren't new. You already knew so much, could already do so much. I tried to keep you young and innocent for a while, but it didn't work, and then I pushed you away and tried to pretend that Chris Perry hadn't ever come into my life. I tried to convince myself that there was no way you were the same person.

"But that day in the kitchen? That day when you told me you knew how to cook and I had never taught you? It was like the bubble I'd been hiding away in had burst open. I think in my heart I always knew it was you. Both of you. I just didn't want to admit it because it always made it seem like you weren't _mine_. And I wanted you to be mine, Chris, I really did."

Her voice got really quiet at the end, and her speech died out into the silence of the room. He didn't know what to say to that. It was confirmation that he wasn't loved like he should have been, and it was confirmation that it was his fault, that family didn't love unconditionally, no matter how loudly, or quietly, they might claim to.

"I was always yours," he finally whispered. "I've always been yours."

If he could have stepped outside himself, he would have seen her reach for him, and pull away before her fingers touched his back. There were so many walls between them, even sitting in the same room, on the same bed. Maybe especially there.

Outside, they could pretend, they always had. He was the annoying son that she didn't always get along with, who had too much demon hunter in him, was a little bit too much devoted to his work like his father used to be. They could still smile at each other, and strangers rarely felt the tension there. But inside? Inside they were too much Piper Halliwell and Chris Perry. They were too much all the lies that had defined their lives together. They were too much his memories and not enough hers. If only she remembered like he did. If only she remembered two lifetimes, too. But she didn't.

He would always be grateful that she didn't have to remember Wyatt evil or her husband gone, that she didn't have to remember dying because, well, he had that, and it wasn't pleasant. But there was something cosmically unfair about him being able to remember everything, like a mother that didn't have the shadow of her son's lies and deception hanging over her, who knew only that her little boy was hers, had been born hers, and would always be hers. And maybe because of that he had perhaps placed too much on her shoulders, expecting her to cope with things she didn't even know about, with his drive and his quirks, his cloudy days that seemed to come more often than his sunny ones, his suspicion that everything would go to hell in a hand basket if he didn't keep a ready eye open all the time. All of that was a product of a world long since avoided, long since forgotten, by everyone but him.

How could she love him if she didn't know him?

He slid around on the bed until they were shoulder to shoulder, and stared straight ahead even though he could feel her eyes on the side of his face.

"We used to cook a lot," he said. "Together, I mean. I loved being with you in the kitchen. You taught me everything I know." _I learned from the best._

He wrung his hands some more, until she finally reached out and, tentatively, placed her hand over his, stilling them just like Wyatt had stilled him earlier.

"And then you died," he said, having to force it out and it came out in a rasp. "You died and went away and I was alone. I had to learn how to be like that. I had to learn how to survive."

"Wyatt was evil," she said. "I know that part."

"No, you don't," he said, "because I haven't told you, not really. Wyatt was evil, but that doesn't tell you what happened to me. I was…not your little boy anymore. I had changed, and when you met me, you were young and I was different, harder, angrier. I wasn't ready to be your little boy again, and by the time I was, you didn't want me anymore. You didn't think I needed you."

Her fingers squeezed around his, and she sniffled. He finally turned to look at her, and she was crying. He pulled a hand away to wipe at her tears, pausing with a thumb just beneath her eye, but she didn't flinch away like he thought she might.

"I did some pretty terrible things," he said, "as Chris Perry. I didn't mean to, but I just…did. At the time, diplomacy wasn't my strong suit."

She nodded, there was no use in arguing that, but, "We did some pretty terrible things, too," she said. "We didn't make it easy for you."

He shrugged, a little stunned to hear it from her lips. "I came here to do a job. Everything else was secondary."

She sighed, obviously that was something they'd always disagree on, even though ultimately, their priorities were the same. Means vs. Ends, the eternal Halliwell battle. But she only said, "You were here to save the world, and you did."

"I couldn't have done it alone. I needed you. I still need you."

He saw her hand come up in his peripheral vision to rub at her eyes. "I'm not going to use a spell," she said, "to forget you. And I don't want you to do anything either. I don't need to forget you. I need to remember you, and to learn about you."

She started crying again and he touched her shoulder gently but she turned away. He pulled his hand back and sat a little awkwardly, wondering if he'd gone too far.

"I've been so stupid," she sobbed out. "All I had to do was start this conversation with you years earlier, and all this time wouldn't have been wasted."

She turned abruptly and threw her arms around him, pulling him into a gripping hug. He put his hands on her back lightly, tentatively.

"I'm so sorry, Chris, I'm so sorry," she said into his shoulder. He let her hold onto him, wondering if this was it, if this was finally the end of all the problems between them, but he didn't feel overjoyed. Instead, he felt a little numb.

They could cry together, and apologize and expound upon how wrong they'd both been until they were blue in the face, and she'd still forget herself later and toss him a spiteful look, and he'd still be more interested in hunting down demons than booking a new band and stocking the bar. They didn't change who they were just because they'd finally admitted there was a problem between them.

He pulled her arms off of him and looked at her. She had wrinkles at the corners of her eyes and her hair had long since started to lose its chestnut brown color, and her face was streaked with tears and remorse, and she was looking at him for the first time like she actually saw him, instead of the stranger in her home that she didn't trust. She was finally looking at him like he was her son. Like he was _hers_. And he looked at her and saw a woman he'd never seen before, older than she'd ever been before, but he still saw more of that mom that he remembered, finally coming through towards him, and he recognized it for what it was: love, finally starting to peak through the shadows. She didn't remember it, but she was both mothers, tied together in one.

"It's not going to fix itself tonight," he said. "These things just don't go away once everyone says their apologies." He stood up and turned back, holding his hand out to her. "But come on, we can start by making dinner." He hesitated, wondering if he was going too far, but plunged on anyway. "I know a recipe you might be interested in. A woman taught it to me long ago, and I have a hunch you might be excellent at it."

She looked at his hand, and then up into his face. When she smiled, it was a little bit sad, but she took his hand and they went down to the kitchen together. Eventually, everything would either work out or it wouldn't. They weren't perfect, they were just family, and these were the mistakes they made.


End file.
